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Cá lia thia · A fish small enough to fit in a jam jar, and a passion large enough to survive a century of change

Fighting Fish

For generations of Vietnamese children, summer meant wading into rice-paddy ditches looking for a small patch of white foam — the telltale sign of a fighting fish nest hidden in the mud below. This is the fourth page in our series on Saigon's passions, and the only one where the star of the story is smaller than a thumb.

From Siamese rice paddies to Cholon's betting halls

Cá lia thia — also known as cá xiêm, cá betta, cá chọi or cá phướn, all names for Betta splendens — arrived in Vietnam from a neighboring kingdom, and split almost immediately into two very different traditions: a wild, rural one and an imported, urban one.

Roughly 200 years ago

In Siam — present-day Thailand — people begin deliberately breeding wild betta fish for combat, selecting for aggression, jaw strength and thick scales rather than the ornamental fin displays the species is often known for today.

More than 100 years ago

Chinese merchants bring imported Siamese fighting fish into Vietnam, introducing "cá xiêm" alongside the country's own native wild betta populations, which already lived in rice paddies, ditches and slow-moving canals across the Mekong Delta and southeastern provinces.

Circa 1914–1915

An early account describes rural markets like Sóc Trăng selling native field bettas for a matter of coins, while the same writer notes that serious, high-stakes fighting-fish culture with imported Siamese stock was already concentrated in the more "developed" Saigon–Gia Định–Chợ Lớn–Bà Hom–Bến Lức corridor, thanks to residents who had traveled by sea to the Straits Settlements and Siam and brought exotic bloodlines home; see What a 1915 memoir remembers, below.

Early 1980s

Breeders around the city's rural fringe, including Bình Chánh district, begin raising betta commercially at scale, turning what had been a backyard hobby into a genuine trade.

Today

Wild native betta populations have grown scarce across much of the Mekong Delta, squeezed by habitat loss, pesticide use and harvesting for fermented fish paste, even as demand for bred ornamental and fighting bettas — increasingly favoring Thai and Indonesian bloodlines — remains strong in the city.

One fish, two very different lives

Ask a Vietnamese betta keeper which fish they mean and you'll quickly learn there isn't just one — there are two distinct traditions built around essentially the same species.

Cá lia thia đồng — the native field betta

Wild, hardy, and increasingly rare

Found in rice paddies, ditches and slow canals across Củ Chi, Long An, Tây Ninh, Đồng Tháp and Bình Phước, this wild population tends to live longer than bred ornamental lines, tolerates being kept in small groups since it's less aggressive toward its own kind, and breeds prolifically — but decades of habitat loss and overharvesting for local fermented-fish production have left it increasingly hard to find in the wild.

Cá xiêm / cá betta cảnh — the imported and bred line

Selected for looks or for the fight

Descended from stock imported from Thailand and neighboring countries, this line splits further into ornamental bettas bred for elaborate fin displays and vivid color, and dedicated fighting bettas bred instead for a thick body, strong jaw, heavy scales and aggressive temperament — two selective-breeding traditions pulling the same species in opposite directions.

The rules of the fight

A formal betta match in Vietnam runs on rules nearly as detailed as any other competitive sport. Before a real bout, each fish is tested against a neutral "police fish" — a placeholder opponent used purely to gauge aggression — with a referee watching from above to judge whether a fish flares its gills fully toward the police fish. A round runs on an electronic timer, typically two minutes, and owners are allowed to request this flaring test up to twice per fish; if both fish flare fully toward the police fish on both attempts, or if both owners simply agree, the match can be called a draw before it even properly begins.

Once a real bout starts, fish are placed in adjoining jars separated by a divider, water levels equalized by the referee beforehand to keep conditions fair. The divider is pulled, the clock starts, and the fight itself can be surprisingly short — much of the drama in betta fighting culture lies less in the physical bout, which often ends within minutes, and more in the careful selection, feeding and training that goes into a fish for months beforehand, and in the tense, formal ritual of the pre-fight flaring test itself.

Places to discover

Lưu Xuân Tín ornamental fish market

Lưu Xuân Tín street, District 5, near the Trần Hưng Đạo intersection

Barely 500 meters long, this narrow street in the heart of Chợ Lớn has functioned as Saigon's principal ornamental-fish market since before 1975, when fish farmers from across the city first began gathering here to sell wholesale near Chợ Lớn's bustling commercial core. Dozens of shops now line both sides of the street, selling everything from common aquarium fish to prized betta bloodlines, alongside tanks, filtration equipment and aquascaping supplies — both bred ornamental bettas and, less commonly, native field bettas can be found here, making it one of the few places in the city where the two traditions described above sit side by side on the same shelf.

What a 1915 memoir remembers

Five xu for a village fish, two đồng bạc for an imported one

A vivid early-20th-century account of the hobby, describing the writer's own boyhood catching and betting on fighting fish around 1914–1915, draws a sharp economic line between the two traditions this page describes. In the writer's hometown market near Sóc Trăng, a native field betta caught locally sold for as little as five xu, rising to at most one cắc (ten xu) for an exceptional specimen. But the same account notes that serious money changed hands only once you traveled up toward Saigon, Gia Định, Chợ Lớn, Bà Hom and Bến Lức — an area the writer calls "developed" early, thanks to residents who had traveled by ship to the Straits Settlements and Siam and brought back "exotic" imported bloodlines. There, an imported fighting fish could fetch one or two silver đồng — ten to twenty times the price of a wild-caught local fish — and fights themselves ran longer, with far more money riding on the outcome. It's a small detail from over a century ago, but it captures a pattern that essentially still holds today: the countryside supplies the wild population, while the city supplies the market, the money, and the fights that matter.

Four bloodlines, four looks

Cá xiêm Thái

The traditional fighting line

Bred from Thai stock

Still the benchmark bloodline for serious fighting-fish keepers, prized for a stocky, powerful build and a temperament bred specifically for combat rather than display.

Cá xiêm Indo

The ornamental favorite

Bred from Indonesian stock

Increasingly popular among Vietnamese keepers who breed purely for visual appeal, known for elaborate fin shapes and striking color patterns developed through generations of selective ornamental breeding.

Cá lia thia đồng mang đỏ

The red-gilled native

Found across Củ Chi, Long An, Tây Ninh, Đồng Tháp and Bình Phước

One of the two main color varieties of Vietnam's own wild field betta, identifiable by the reddish tint along its gill covers when flared.

Cá lia thia đồng mang xanh

The blue-gilled native

Found near the Củ Chi–Trảng Bàng border area

The blue-gilled counterpart to the red variety above, generally harder to find and correspondingly more sought after by keepers specifically hunting for wild native bloodlines.

Practical info

Lưu Xuân Tín street is easiest to reach as part of a wider visit to Chợ Lớn, near the Trần Hưng Đạo intersection in District 5; most shops are open from early morning until around 6pm daily.

Visitors are welcome to browse the shops and ask questions, though bear in mind that fighting fish are almost always sold and kept individually — two male bettas placed together, even briefly, will fight on sight, which is precisely the instinct the entire hobby is built around.

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